


For The Love Of A Slave

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Anal, Felching, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Mpreg, Omegaverse, Oral, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been several weeks since Sherlock Holmes was given one John Watson as his Omega sex slave. John had easily outlasted all of the previous slaves, though he still had no idea what he had done differently to garner this honor. He hoped it wasn’t simply because Sherlock had been told that no other slaves would be sold to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

It had been several weeks since Sherlock Holmes was given one John Watson as his Omega sex slave. John had easily outlasted all of the previous slaves, though he still had no idea what he had done differently to garner this honor. He hoped it wasn’t simply because Sherlock had been told that no other slaves would be sold to him.

Prior to Sherlock choosing John, seemingly at random, John had been the oldest male Omega sex slave in Shan’s Sex Slave Market. The ‘market’ was actually a large Victorian house brimming with ripe Omega’s who had been sold to Shan by their parents. John had grown up in the house, waiting for an Alpha to choose him, and eventually resigned himself to being the house’s slave instead. He was now far too old to garner attention from any Alpha who didn’t have an interest in being a Little. So few Alpha Little’s came through that he had given up hope on that front. Instead, John spent his time waiting on the Alpha’s who came to look at other Omega’s, still holding out a small amount of hope that they’d notice him instead, and taking care of various medical concerns of the Omega’s who came and went. Shan had been nice enough to get him some small medical training once she realized he wasn’t going to sell. Who wanted someone as average looking as John? Especially once he passed the 25-year mark that all other Omega’s considered to be ‘old age’. He was probably still capable of breeding, but who’d spend money on a maybe?

Then Sherlock had shown up and had turned the entire place upside down by buying slaves and returning them after a mere week. He always had some kind of complaint, but they were usually ridiculous. Lucinda, who was easily the most docile slave John had ever laid eyes on, was accused of being argumentative. Victor, who literally got off on kneeling, was accused of being willful and unsubmissive. They were all sold back to Shan, at a loss to Sherlock because they were no longer virgins, which was no gain to Shan because she had to list that when selling them again! Finally she had thrown up her hands and refused to sell to Sherlock anymore. John had been in the lobby with them, scrubbing the floors, when that particular conversation occurred.

“No more! No more, Mr. Holmes! You want pop cherries, you go to whore house find sluts in school outfits! This respectable institution!”

“It’s hardly my fault you are selling inferior slaves!”

“You make them crazy! They come back wish to be like that one and never have master again! You break them!”

“What him? He doesn’t want a master?” John looked up at Mr. Holmes in alarm and quickly shook his head ‘no’, of course he wanted a master!

“I’ll take him,” Sherlock stated firmly, “How much?”

“You take him, fine, no charge, gift to you, but you don’t bring him back! No more!”

John had scrambled to pack nearly 20 years worth of things, leaving much behind in his haste, had hugged his closer friends goodbye and fled out the door after the long-legged Sherlock Holmes. He’d spent the first day listening to the mad rules of 221B Baker St and cleaning up the mess from the last slave who had stayed in what would now be John’s room… for as long as he could keep Sherlock’s interest.

John wasn’t supposed to clean anything that even looked like an experiment and was firmly told to leave any body parts found where they were. He wasn’t allowed to organize anything at all. He was to offer food, but not to pester the man if he didn’t want to eat. John was to sleep in his own room and not bother Sherlock if he didn’t feel like sleeping, eating, talking, having sex, or halting his hours-long violin playing sessions.

John had nodded, scrubbed a shattered perfume bottle and it’s foul scent out of the rug in his new room, and obediently kneeled by the man’s feet while he played the violin for six hours straight. The next morning when John came downstairs to offer food Sherlock had been gone. He hadn’t seen him for three days, and had just despaired on his return and begun wondering if he’d be able to care for himself, when a large bearded man had burst in through the doorway. The man was filthy and smelled of the streets, so John had grabbed the sheet music stand intending on defending his Master’s home, when the man had yanked off his beard and ordered John to start the shower.

“I shall require at least two, and I’ll need you to scrub me. Harshly. I expect to be pink by the time we emerge again.”

Sherlock bloody Holmes. Apparently some sort of private detective who had just returned from a case in which he had been living on the streets in disguise for days at a time. John scrubbed his skin raw and they tumbled into Sherlock’s bed groping each other like mad.

“A solved case always makes me feel so alive! After this you will make me a large meal and leave me to sleep for at least a day."

“Yes… yes, sir!” John gasped as his erect member was sucked into Sherlock’s mouth.

John had never had a blowjob before, though he’d given a fair few, and had certainly never expected to be on the receiving end of one. He’d never even spent this long outside of a chastity device before and had only wanked for the second time in his life since he’d arrived at 221B. The first time had been for a client’s show at the Market and he’d taken a pitifully short amount of time. It seemed he was in for a repeat performance of that particular humiliation as Sherlock swallowed his cum after only a few seconds of eager head bobbing. Sherlock hummed appreciatively, as though John tasted delicious, before thrusting two fingers into John’s already dripping passage.

“Hmmm, virgin? That’s a surprise at your age, well no use mourning lost time.”

John writhed in bliss. Sherlock’s fingers touched something inside of him that made him keen and beg for his cock like a slut. He was panting and close to his second orgasm when Sherlock pulled all three fingers out of him and lined his cock up at John’s entrance.

“Aren’t you lovely, looking debauched like this,” Sherlock panted before sliding slowly into John’s quivering hole.

John let out a long, hungry moan as Sherlock slid home and wrapped his legs tightly around the man’s waist, intending on keeping him right there for the rest of both of their lives. His goal was short lived, as after only a moment or two of panting both men wanted movement. Sherlock’s hips started pumping fast and hard and John was soon crying out his second orgasm, his seed spraying forcefully across both their bodies. He was seeing stars and tearing at the bedclothes as though they were responsible for his loss of control.

“Oh, god, you’re so passionate! Mmmm, yes, take my cock you filthy slave!” Sherlock snarled, biting and sucking at his neck while he tweaked his slave’s sensitive nipples.

John couldn’t even begin to reply. He was shouting in bliss and moaning at the top of his lungs, all sense of decorum and training out the window as this beautiful man used his body for all it was worth. Eventually he realized he was shouting praises, screaming that Sherlock was brilliant, beautiful, fascinating… anything to get him to keep fucking him senseless.

“You do love this, don’t you?” Sherlock panted, “Do you want to feel me come inside of you? Do you want to feel me fill you up?”

“Yes! Yes! Please, Sherlock, fill me!”

Sherlock?! He’d just called his Master by his first name! Sherlock was moaning now, though, his knot expanding and starting to rub across John’s prostate in excruciating pleasure. John lost his ability to apologize before the words were fully formed and focused instead on clawing at Sherlock’s arse as he desperately begged to be knotted.

“Oh, you’re fantastic.” Sherlock breathed, then tensed as his knot expanded fully.

John felt a moment of sudden pain as his prostate was over-stimulated by the expanded knot, then it petered out into white-hot pleasure as hot fluid filled him, throbbing out in waves until his abdomen swelled a bit. John screamed as he climaxed a third time, and his clenching channel cause Sherlock to swear as another orgasm was torn from him. John’s abdomen swelled a bit further, and they both stared at it in wonder, Sherlock propping himself up on his arms to get a proper look.

“Oh…” John breathed, “Oh, my, but that’s…”

Instead of continuing the thought he reached up and teased Sherlock’s nipples at the same time as he rotated his hips, trying to get another round from the man. Sherlock’s eyes went wide and intense, his eyes dilating as pleasure throbbed through his body. Sherlock convulsed on top of John’s body and John moaned, as his insides felt stretched by the third outpouring of pulsating seed.

“Johnnnn,” Sherlock moaned appreciatively.

They eased themselves onto their sides, to avoid pressure to John’s distended abdomen, and lay clutching each other tightly. John struggled to stay awake, remembering Sherlock’s rule about not sleeping in his room, and Sherlock dropped into blissful dreams.

Once Sherlock’s knot had subsided enough for his prick to slip out, John quickly clenched his muscles, slid out of the bed, and hurried to the bathroom. He remembered his training now, and searched frantically for a buttplug to keep the seed from seeping out of him. None were to be found, and he was loath to wake his exhausted Master. Finally he gave up, it was already leaking out and his stomach was cramping badly. He used the toilet and then pressed a flannel between his butt cheeks to catch the rest. He slipped his knickers on over top to hold it in place, cleaned himself up at the sink, and headed out to the kitchen in a housecoat to prepare the food Sherlock wanted.

He brought a full five-course meal to him on a tray (several trays) in bed, and Sherlock seemed quite grateful as he enthusiastically dove in. John waited patiently, kneeling at the bedside and staring at his handsome Master, until it was time to take the tray away. He left a glass of water at the bedside and slipped out to the living room to watch some tele while Sherlock slept. It seemed no punishment was forthcoming for his verbal slip during sex. Perhaps Master hadn’t noticed.

Master took him with him on cases. John knew from the moment he killed another Alpha in Sherlock’s defense that he was in love with the enigmatic detective. It took having a bomb strapped to him in a darkened indoor pool for John to realize Sherlock loved him back. In between those two monumental moments were chases, fights, arguments with a policewomen who called Sherlock a freak for letting his slave act like a free man, and a terrifying bombing across the street from 221B. The latter had occurred after one of their fights and John had never felt so guilty for storming off in his life. Sherlock had acted as though nothing had happened and mocked him for wandering the streets all night, asking if he’d found a couch to sleep on or if he’d settled for someone’s patio furniture. John hadn’t slept, but Mycroft had been the one to point that out, so he said nothing.

John had stopped waiting for the moment when Sherlock would return him to Madame Shan. Madame Shan was dead anyway; taken out by sniper when she’d gotten herself involved in a case of Sherlock’s. John would have killed her for Sherlock; he was that in love with the man.

Then came the horrifying day when he looked up at a the rooftop of St. Barts and Sherlock’s voice on the mobile told him he’d be alright. Sherlock had made sure of it. John was a freed Omega, but Sherlock’s last order was to tell the world that Sherlock had been a fraud. Then he’d jumped and John’s heart had broken in more pieces than the brilliant man’s skull had when it had hit the pavement.

John sat in 221B staring at his blog. Mycroft, who encouraged John to get some kind of a job in order to keep himself sane, was paying for the flat and all utilities. John was considering the military, but he had a job to finish first. He had to honor Sherlock’s last order.

 

PERSONAL BLOG OF JOHN H. WATSON

Sherlock Holmes was a great man, and as his Omega slave I pride myself in never having disobeyed a direct order. Oh, I ignored a fair few indirect ones and pestered him to eat more than he appreciated, but I never once disobeyed a direct order. Not even when he ordered me to stand in the street and watch him die. I loved Sherlock Holmes more than any slave has a right to, but I am no longer his slave and I will not obey his last order.

Richard Brook was a fake identity; Moriarty really did exist.

Sherlock Holmes was truly a great man, a brilliant detective, and worth more than a thousand Alphas. His death is a loss to Alphas and Omegas alike, and of great personal loss to myself. I will neither deny his brilliance nor remove his collar. I know he will forgive me for both.

http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/43640.html


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock stepped onto the second floor landing of 221B with no small amount of trepidation. He had not set foot in his former home in nearly three years and he had no idea what was waiting for him. He knew Mycroft had continued to pay the rent and utilities, as had been requested of him so that John had a place to live should he wish to remain there, but Sherlock’s stubborn older brother had refused to tell him what had become of his beautiful slave. As far as John H. Watson was concerned, Sherlock was dead. He may have moved on. He might have had dozens of lovers, any one- or more- of which might be there with him now.

The thought of another Alpha, or even a Beta, laying hands on his worshipful Omega sex slave nearly drove Sherlock round the bend. He drove the key home the way he imagined his cock would soon be doing as he re-claimed what was rightfully his.

_How dare he? After how well I treated him, how much freedom I gave him…_

The flat was empty and dark. Furniture still remained, but the entire flat was covered in dust. Signs that an Omega had packed it up remained, no Alpha would bother draping _dust cloths_ over everything, but the flat looked entirely unlived in. Sherlock shut the door again and ascended the stairs to his lover’s former bedroom, hoping the creature had simply refused to use more space than an Omega typically needed. No such luck. The room was also packed up, though this looked far more final.

Sherlock headed back downstairs and stared shifting dust cloths off of his furniture. He shook them out the nearby window and made his way into his old bedroom, coughing along the way.

This room was not packed up and clearly had been lived in recently, though from what Sherlock could see the occupant had been gone a good three months.

So, John was at least still _visiting_ 221B. That didn’t bode well for Sherlock. It was very likely that he had a full time lover, perhaps even a bond mate now that laws had been passed giving Omega’s rights. He probably only came here when he was in trouble at home or felt the need for space. Sherlock started going through drawers looking for anything he could change into. He didn’t have much with him but…

_What’s this?_

John most _certainly_ didn’t have anyone, because the mess of sex toys he found in two different drawers clearly screamed ‘Single Omega’. John was using the flat for his heat cycles!

The idea of John showing up here solely to masturbate to orgasm for days on end in the bed that they had fucked on countless times aroused Sherlock to no end. He had a time of it finding a toy that could also be used on an Alpha, but once he did he settled down in the bed with the tiny vibrator, slipped it on the adjustable cock ring, and slipped it on his quickly firming cock.

It wasn’t long before Sherlock was panting a bit as he stroked his aching member, bringing himself close to orgasm, but always holding himself back. The cock ring helped immensely, but the pressure was building. If he had miscalculated… but no! There it was! No wonder Mycroft had been so secretive, and so eager to send Sherlock back to Baker St tonight!

A noise from the other room heralded the arrival of his dutiful sex slave, and Sherlock stood to great him so that he would be standing above his lover, as a Master should. John opened the door with a cricket bat in his hand, clearly intending on braining the intruder rather than allow whatever Alpha had wandered in and tidied up to breed him. There was a moment of silence, filled only by the hum of the little vibrator against Sherlock’s throbbing cockhead, and then John let out a strangled cry.

Sherlock quickly had a lap full of loving, greedily kissing, Omega slave… no, not slave. Not anymore. Sherlock had freed John, years before emancipation had freed all the slaves, but clearly the man was eager to continue their previous arrangement as he was quickly removing his own clothes in between peppering Sherlock’s face with kisses.

“I’m going to ride you for days, you bastard, and then you’re going to explain to me how you could _possibly_ justify what you’ve done to me, and then you’re going to meet your son, and _then_ Sherlock, then _if you are very lucky_ , I will forgive you.”

“Mmmmmm,” Sherlock agreed as John sank to his knees and lathed his tongue over the head of Sherlock’s sensitive prick.

Unfortunately, seeing his Alpha for the first time in years threw John over the edge and his heat kicked in almost immediately. There would be time for talk later. Now the only thing either frantically bucking man could think of was fucking or being fucked.

Sherlock dragged John up from the floor and pressed his back into the mattress. Their bed stood on stilts and it was the perfect height for Sherlock’s long legs. He buried himself into John’s tight wet orifice without hesitation, groaning at the unexpected tightness, and held himself still so John could adjust.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Sherlock breathed, hoping his lover would give him one of the compliments that always made him feel alive.

“You’re the beautiful one, you brilliant, arrogant, _perfect_ Master. Ohhh! Oh, Master!!” John had apparently climaxed just from saying the _word_ , and Sherlock was left gasping as his cock was squeezed through John’s orgasm. He watched in unabashed amazement as pearly white fluid shot across John’s stomach and chest.

“We can do better than that,” Sherlock half teased, half challenged. Then he ran his hands through John’s spunk, smearing it everywhere, before pressing his fingers into the Omega’s mouth so he could taste himself. John sucked eagerly, moaning wantonly as he arched his hips to beg for more.

Sherlock’s thrusts were forceful and well aimed, grazing John’s prostate with the proficiency of a man who had thought only of pleasuring _this one person_ for three years straight. He grasped the lovely man’s member and stroked him until he was screaming and begging for more. The cocktease wrapped around Sherlock’s tip was sending pulsating vibrations into John’s very core, and Sherlock watched in bliss as the Omega came undone twice more.

Once Sherlock could be assured of his Omega’s satisfaction he slid out, quickly removed the cock ring and vibrator, and thrust home again.

“Oh, this feels so _right!_ ” Sherlock groaned, and with a few more thrusts was climaxing wildly. His forced abstinence only made this sweeter and he came three times in quick succession, enjoying John’s continued orgasms as well. Eventually they collapsed together, and whispered lover’s nonsense into each other’s ears while they waited for Sherlock’s knot to go down. Once he slipped out, Sherlock collapsed beside his Omega.

Urges satisfied, what followed was almost too tender to describe as each man took hours to explore the other. They started with each other’s mouths, gently exploring each tooth, the tongue, the roof, and pressing into each other’s cheeks. They moved on to faces, remembering old planes and memorizing new wrinkles and scars. Then each took in turn to examine the other’s body, worshiping the familiar as they sighed contentedly over the new. By the time Sherlock turned John over and buried his face between his beloved Omegas full round orbs, the man was a babbling mess of need. He was crying softly, his eyes made more beautiful and expressive by those precious tears. Sherlock wished he could look into those eyes and feast on John’s delicious entrance at the same time. He plundered his hole, licking around the outside before sliding inside and sampling the glorious mixture of Sherlock and John.

Hmmmm, mixture of Sherlock and John?

“John,” Sherlock asked as he slowly mounted his mate from behind, sliding into him with a contented sigh, “did you say I had a son?”

“Fuck now, talk later.”

“Dashed inconsiderate of you, holding out on me.”

“Fuck NOW, talk much, much later!”

“Hmmmm, fine, but only because you are so very, very gorgeous when you are needy.”

Sherlock began to rock his hips, gently at first, but soon he was gaining momentum. John shouted his praises on the top of his voice and Sherlock gazed down at him in wonder that he had such a perfect creature in his life. John wasn’t just a sex slave, though he _was_ that no matter what the laws said: he was Sherlock’s completion. He was the piece of himself that went missing whenever the bright-eyed man left the room. He was his John Watson. Soon, he would be his John Holmes-Watson, and they would run through the streets of London together again. Soon Sherlock would see colors as vibrant once more, all because this man was there to free his cluttered mind.

Sherlock only had freedom in his slave.


	3. vincentmeoblinn | For The Love Of A Slave Ch 3

Sherlock stared down at the toddler in wonder. He had Sherlock’s colouring, but his dark locks were straight like Johns; he had beautiful, vibrant, blue-green eyes. He was talking and walking and it was all Sherlock could do not to weep to know that he had missed all that.

“I was going to join the military, you know. Get my degree as a proper doctor,” John explained, “But then I realized I was pregnant. You have no idea how relieved I was to know that something of you was still left in this world. I became paranoid. I went to Mycroft for protection, he’s my pack Alpha you know.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock replied, too stunned for words, “Is he shy around everyone?”

“Yes, but he has no idea who you are. You’ve been gone a long time, Master,” John replied, and Sherlock could hear the hurt and loneliness.

“I didn’t mean to be. I was faithful. I thought of you constantly.”

“Same. I tried to date, but… Sherlock Jr. here is my world.”

“Gods, you gave him my name? The poor thing.”

John laughed bitterly, “Well, I didn’t think you’d be using it anymore.”

John had been distant since his Heat ended a few hours ago. They’d showered separately on his request and then he’d brought Sherlock to his practice where he apparently slept on a couch in his office while Sherlock Jr. had a room to himself. 

“You did get your degree, though,” Sherlock mentioned.

“Yes. Mycroft insisted. I was bored and pregnant and irritating. I passed a prerequisite test showing I already had some knowledge of medicine and qualified for accelerated classes. I took more classes online than I care to remember in two years time, while pregnant, nursing, and play-dating. Showed up for a six month cram of medical hands-on and then opened this practice a week ago. We were living with Mycroft until then, with a nanny he’d provided, but I felt it was time to leave. The nanny stops by sometimes, and still babysits for us; her name is Mary. You’ll hate her.”

Junior toddled out from behind John’s leg and waved at Sherlock, who smiled and waved back. The boy giggled and ducked again. 

“Is there a… toy or treat or… something I can offer him to get him near me? My instincts are _screaming_ at me to scent him.”

“I’ll get you a toddler biscuit,” John decided, but then was stopped by a screaming Junior, “Oh, darling, it’s okay. He’s not so scary.”

John had to pick Junior up and walk away with him on his hip in order to get the biscuit, which he wanted immediately from John, and then threw an absolute fit when John handed it to Sherlock instead. John lowered the thrashing child to the floor where he rolled around miserably. Sherlock held the biscuit out to him.

“No!” Junior shouted, and slapped it from Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock wanted to hold the boy, hug him, kiss him, scent him, but he wouldn’t do so if he were afraid of him. He stood up and backed away, allowing John to comfort him.

“He’ll get used to you,” John reassured as the toddler sucked his thumb and worried John’s shirtsleeve between his fingers. 

Sherlock nodded miserably. 

“We’ll move back to Baker Street,” Sherlock decided, “He can have the room upstairs. I prefer to have you near me from now on.”

To Sherlock’s shock John didn’t jump to obey him and start packing up. They stood there staring and blinking at each other awkwardly for several minutes and then John sighed and spoke up.

“Moving is hard on kids, Sherlock. We can’t just pack him up tonight and expect him to be okay with that. It’s late and he hasn’t seen me for a week, right after moving in here! He’s going to be clingy. I’m sleeping with him in his toddler bed tonight. You can have the couch.”

Sherlock gaped. John winced and looked away, his knees buckling as he fought the urge to kneel.

“I retract my order,” Sherlock stated firmly, and went out the door and to the room next door where he could sleep on the couch. 

John followed him.

“I’m sorry. I… You’re not used to this brave new world of ours, are you?”

“The one where Omegas make decisions and disobey their Alphas? No. Or am I even your Alpha?”

“Yes! Gods, yes! Sherlock… I have to think of more than you, now. I have a… WE have a child now.”

“You were right the first time. You have a child. He wants nothing to do with me.”

“He doesn’t know you! You vanished for three years! You abandoned me and you never even knew he existed! You could at least acknowledge that _we_ aren’t the bad guys here!”

Sherlock sighed and rubbed at his temples. 

“I love you,” He stated simply, because it had never been said, and while John knew he deserved to be told.

John’s knees did give then and he sniffled as he knelt on the floor of his own office with his child on his hip and his head bowed submissively. Sherlock joined him there, kneeling in front of him and reaching out to wipe the tears from his cheek. Junior burst into tears and John stood up and hurried out of the room while comforting him. Sherlock stayed on his knees on the floor for an hour, hoping John would return and comfort him, too. He didn’t.

XXXXXXXXX

Sherlock tried. He really did try. He kept his temper most of the time and when people called him backwards for ordering John about, John defended him. They married: or rather they signed the papers declaring them married. John didn’t ask for a fancy wedding and Sherlock didn’t offer one. They shared a bed, but a week passed and they had yet to touch each other. 

Sherlock was getting desperate enough to consider calling a furpile, but he didn’t know how to ask Mycroft for such a thing. His brother may have been the pack Alpha, but he wasn’t known for being loving and supporting. His gay lover, another Alpha named Lestrade- who he had some bizarre non-penetrative sex with that Sherlock didn’t want to know about but did- was charming and polite, but was also angry at Sherlock for faking his death for three years. 

It was while Sherlock was laying across the couch in his thinking pose that Junior broke the ice. Sherlock’s cub crawled up onto the couch and sat himself down on Sherlock’s torso to study his face. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and Junior mirrored it, then carefully folded his hands to mimic Sherlock’s thinking pose. Sherlock slowly smiled and Junior slowly smiled. He chuckled deeply and Junior laughed out loud. John came in from the kitchen with a bowl full of batter, a whisk, and a cute pink apron on that read ‘Kiss The Chef And Expect To Be Poisoned’ and grinned from ear to ear. 

Sherlock carefully drew the boy close and nuzzled his neck. He giggled and Sherlock swept his tongue across the boy’s neck to scent him. He relaxed into Sherlock’s arm and he held him as he slept for two solid hours. Sherlock wept silently and without shame, John occasionally passing by as he quietly straightened up the living room and wiped the tears from Sherlock’s cheek. 

The dam broke. John and Sherlock made love that night, slowly and tenderly, with John whispering ‘Master’ over and over again. Their relationship slowly began to heal. John knelt at his feet again, and Sherlock never once took it for granted (especially not when the Omegaists screamed at him to stop putting Omegas down). A month after his return Sherlock got a case from Scotland Yard and John left his practice in the care of a recently hired doctor named Sarah in order to follow after Sherlock. Sarah threatened to quit if he did it again, so John hired two nurses and another doctor and listed himself as administrator so he could leave if he had to. 

A month later and John tearfully ran out of the bathroom and threw himself down at Sherlock’s feet. The scent hit him before John even managed to fumble the test into his view and Sherlock swept him up into his arms and danced around the room with him.

“Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson get up here! We’re celebrating tonight!”

“What on earth for?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she stepped out of her flat.

“John’s pregnant again! He’s scenting _and_ tested positive!”

“Oh! My boys!” Mrs. Hudson burst into tears and ran to fetch her coat. 

They went out to eat and Junior got overtired and rambunctious and sang his ABC’s on the top of his lungs until the waitress asked them to quiet him down or leave. They left and took the party to a cab where they all sang it together. When they got home they wrestled Junior into bed and then John unpacked box after box of baby things and started nesting. Sherlock took pictures of him piling blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals onto the bed. The best picture was of him sniffling and holding Junior’s smallest onesie close to his face. 

Sherlock was a devoted Alpha. He cared for John throughout his pregnancy, showing off pictures of his pregnant Sub to anyone who would care to glance in his direction. At John’s age it was probably his last pregnancy, so Sherlock was making the most of it. When John wanted food in the middle of the night, Sherlock got it. When Junior drove him mad, he took him off his hands. When a case popped up, Sherlock solved it from home or passed it up. When the day came he delivered their daughter himself, grinning from ear to ear at the little squalling mess in his arms. John had wanted a water birth, so they’d done it in their bathroom instead of bedroom, with only Molly in attendance. Once settled in their room, John nursed their new cub and smiled blissfully as Sherlock scented them both and then brought a sleepy Junior in to see his new baby sister. 

“What are we naming her?” John asked, “You should pick.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed her soft head once more.

“Lysandra,” He decided, “It’s Greek for ‘one who is freed’.”

John smiled down at his daughter and nodded agreement, testing the name out on his tongue, “Lysandra, who will be free even if she’s an Omega.”

“Would you regret it if she were a slave? Was I so awful to you?”

John laughed, “I still act like your slave, you backwards goat! No. I’d only regret not being able to make sure she ended up with someone she loves. I was lucky. Gods, I was so lucky with you! I still am.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed his husband and both his children, cuddling Junior onto his lap as John settled down to sleep. He gently eased the baby from John’s teat once she was done feeding and placed her in the bassinet. Junior wanted to sleep in there with her, but he coaxed the lad into lying with his mummy instead. Sherlock slept on his other side and stared in wonder at the man who had given him hope, love, acceptance, and now a family. 

“My John,” Sherlock whispered, and let sleep claim him as well.


End file.
